The Wandless and The Wandmaker
by peas of a pod
Summary: 5 Years Post-Battle of Hogwarts. With the The Quibbler's Grand 5 Year Anniversary Ball and the May "Where Are They Now?" Edition of the magazine coming up, it seems its up to Draco Malfoy to bring the estranged Hermione Granger out of her hiding spot above Ollivander's Wand Shop. As an awkward process begins, true feelings are uncovered - meddling friends and old flames included.


Prologue

 _(2 years post-war)_

Draco Malfoy put down his coffee mug, looked at the newspaper and sighed at the headlines that were screaming out at him. He winced as he read the big bold lettering on the front page.

 **TRAITORS OF THE WAR: TOO ASHAMED OR TOO PROUD?**

As he began to read the fine print, the fear and guilt started prickling on the back of his neck, the hairs on his forearm standing on end. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his head hanging low as all the memories of the War came flooding back. The fact that The Malfoy Family betrayed not only Voldemort but Harry Potter and his friends would forever haunt him.

It's not like he wasn't relieved that he and his family were nowhere around when Voldemort died, but rather, Draco felt an undistinguishable guilt in the pit of his stomach when he realized that he could have somehow helped Potter and his friends take him down earlier. _All those lives he could have helped save_. The guilt still hung over his head like he was on a chopping block.

No doubt ever since the War ended, and the remaining Death Eaters and the War survivors found out that the Malfoys had committed the cowardly act of running away, Draco couldn't face anyone ever again, not even his parents. _Especially_ not his parents.

Draco knew Narcissa was only trying to protect him when they fled, and he believed that in due time he would forgive her. But not his father. Lucius was the reason that his life became a choice-less, villainous one filled with regret and loneliness.

Draco knew, now, that he had been brainwashed as a child to believe in the heinous crimes committed by Death Eaters, but he could no longer bear to think of all that he had witnessed in that dark mansion he once called home. All he could do now was start afresh and try to lead a life different to the one Lucius had destined him for.

"Master Malfoy?" Squealed the little house elf as Draco looked up from the paper slowly.

"What is it, Poppy?" Draco patiently asked the small, frail figure in front of him who was dressed in an old, but clean, bed sheet made of yellow cotton, printed with - ironically - poppies. She chose the outfit herself, saying she felt comfortable in it. Before old Poppy could reply, Draco hurriedly added, "And how many times have I told you to call me 'Draco'?"

Even though he was out on his own now, Draco figured he needn't live life like a poor man without _some_ dignity and so he had brought Poppy, his favourite house elf from the Manor, home with him to London. That being said, Draco also thought that if he was bringing in some luxury in the form of a house elf, he might as well attempt to lay low and keep the formalities to a minimum.

Poppy looked down nervously with a slight blush and replied, "Yes... _Sir_. Poppy remember it for next time. But there's a letter for you… _Sir._ From an owl Poppy has never seen before! "

Well, it wasn't his name but it was progress.

Draco wondered who could have sent him a letter this late at night, and especially to his new apartment where almost no one knew the address. But he thanked Poppy anyway, thinking that maybe he had gotten a reply from one of the companies that he had applied to earlier and concluded that it was his agent bringing him news of a potential employer.

With a loud sigh, he got up from the big arm chair and walked through to his bedroom when he heard a strange rattling sound. He looked up at his window and saw a pesky little bird with brown feathers knocking on the window with its beak. It had large green eyes that were slightly crossed and tied to its legs were, what looked like to Draco, dried dirigible plums and radishes, rattling against each other.

Draco knew instantly who had sent it.

* * *

Hermione woke abruptly from her slumber sweating like a pig with her throat parched from her screaming all night. She sat up with a jolt, head in her hands as she tried to shake the horrifying images that stayed embedded behind closed lids. Tonight's nightmare was one of the worst ones yet. And it confused Hermione a lot because she thought that maybe after two years they might have stopped or, at least, thinned out. But it seemed that they were getting worse as time wore on, and they aged her a lot. She was barely even twenty-years-old and she felt like she was ready to move on into whatever was waiting for her beyond the Kings Cross-like limbo Harry had told her about once.

"Miss Granger?"

An old, croaky voice called to Hermione through the old, croaky townhouse above the wand shop. _Great,_ the frizzy haired girl thought restlessly to herself. _I woke him. Again._

Hermione pushed the covers off of her legs and treaded carefully through the darkened halls, mumbling " _Lumos_ " on the way and allowing the light on the tip of her vine wood wand to guide her to the Old Man's bedroom door a small way's down from hers. Pushing the bedroom door open, Hermione saw the older wizard's wand also lit and she knew he was well and truly awake.

"I'm sorry for waking you, Mister Ollivander." She practically whispered into the room. Ollivander's hand appeared from the covers, waving her off and also asking for help. Hermione rushed to his side and helped him sit up, plumping up the pillow behind his neck.

"Not to worry, my dear. It's quite alright." He patted the girl's hand gently as she sat next to him and smoothed his covers. He could see the dark circles under her eyes that seemed to have grown since she came to his shop asking for refuge almost two years ago. She looked more helpless now than she did back then and he felt for her, he really did. "Nightmares again?"

Hermione nodded, wincing at the memory. "It was Harry again." She confessed. "He um… He didn't make it."

"I see." He murmured into the chilled air between the pair. "Do you think, maybe, it is your subconscious telling you something?"

"Like what?" The girl snivelled, staring at the old man tucked away in his bed with dread because she knew exactly what he was going to say.

"Well," he began, his voice soft and quiet like he was trying very careful not to disturb her. Which could very well have been true; the Hermione Granger two years post Battle of Hogwarts was a very different person to the Hermione Granger pre War – even _during_ the war. She was distressed, sleep-deprived and anxious; a wicked combination for the easily disturbed.

"Perhaps your subconscious is asking for some help with moving on." Ollivander suggested. "The kind of help only your friendscan provide."

Hermione huffed at the thought, her eyes squeezing shut. "Oh, but Sir, I can't." She inhaled very sharply. "Harry… Harry and the others suffered so much. I would only be in the way."

"Miss Granger," Ollivander took her hand again and her brown eyes found his silver ones in the bright light of their wands. "Your losses during the war are just as real, and just as valid as theirs." He tried to reassure her. "Mister Potter and the Weasley family more than likely need you just as much as you need them."

Instead of going back to bed, Hermione left Ollivander in peace and quiet and returned to her room where she turned on the lamp and began to read – as she always did when the fear of what she would see when she closed her eyes was far greater than her desire to sleep.

Books upon books covered her desk and the floor and nightstand beside the bed, all of them about the art of wand-making. She threw herself into the words and succumbed to the need to remember everything she read, because in truth it was easier than trying to convince herself that Ollivander had the wrong idea about her friends – if they were even her friends anymore.

* * *

Draco looked out at the window and realised how dark it had gotten. All this job hunting in the Muggle _and_ wizard tabloids had made him hungry, to which he then realised that he had not eaten anything all day. He wandered over to his Muggle kitchen and made a sour face as he opened the door to the contraption that was, apparently, called a refrigerator. Ever since he had left his parents' home, he had discovered new things about the Muggle world that didn't necessarily fascinate him, but rather left him kind of bewildered and, sometimes, left him feeling just plain stupid. Like the time when he first used the weird toast-making machine and nearly had a heart attack when the toast jumped out at him.

Draco smiled to himself at the memory as he looked into the refrigerator and decided he would make himself a sandwich. Just as he reached out to pull out the bread, he heard a loud scurry and shuffling and looked up at the commotion to find Poppy squealing.

"Master Draco, let me do it, Sir! Poppy make you dinnah, Sir! Master Draco must not enter the kitchen, Sir, Poppy is sorry, Master!".

The little elf looked like she would burst into tears anytime soon and so Draco quickly interjected.

"Poppy, it's quite alright. I'm perfectly able to make a sandwich by myself. _And_ may I remind you about the 'Master' thing again?"

Poppy huffed and looked down while she proceeded to exit the kitchen with a rejected shuffle. He knew that he was disappointing her for not allowing her to do her the duties she was brought here to do, but Draco needed to learn how to survive in the newly reforming Muggle world if he was ever going to stay hidden from his wizarding past.

His shameful history with the dreadful draughts of magic's potential had led him to appreciate the simplicities of the Muggle world he had grown up arrogantly ignoring and hating simultaneously. Who would've thought Draco would leave the luxuries of his wizarding life and learn to live like a Muggle? His younger self would have scoffed in his face and smugly shared his distaste of the non-magical folk, declaring their lack of worth.

A lot had changed after one war though; it was enough for a lifetime and it was enough to practically scare the magic out him. He had seen what magic could do to innocent people. He'd seen what _his_ magic could do.

With that thought, Draco retired to his dining table with his sandwich and reminisced about memories from past which would no doubt give him nightmares tonight. He finished his dinner and washed his plate by hand. If he was being honest, the whole no magic thing was actually getting a little annoying, and he wished he had a wand to do the mediocre tasks that made Muggle life inconvenient.

But he knew what he was capable of with it and it was harsh reminder of his life as a wizard. Destroying his wand after his father's death was a lesson to him that such an innocent piece of wood could be capable of torture and death. He let out a sigh, threw the tea towel over his shoulder and leaned his back against the countertop.

 _Still though…_ Draco thought to himself, defeated. He probably needed a wand for emergencies, and since he was still - and always would be - a wizard he might as well keep one handy (not that he intended to use it nearly as often as he used to). He folded the tea towel, turned off the lights and gave himself a mental reminder to pop into Ollivander's tomorrow to get a new one.

* * *

Needless to say, Hermione felt a lot better by the time the sun peeked through her window the next morning. Yes, she was still tired and yes, the thought of crawling back to Harry and Ron after two years was eating her alive – but nevertheless, she felt better. She felt ready for the day and her skin was no longer crawling from another night of horrifying dreams.

"Good morning, Mister Ollivander." She smiled at the Elderly man as he ever-so-slowly made his way down the stairs to the small kitchen and dining area where she, in turn, was a flurry of chaos in the middle of the kitchen. Eggs were frying themselves, toast buttering to the tenth piece while books were floating mid-air as Hermione excitedly flipped from page to page and hopped from book to book.

"Gracious, child!" Ollivander let out a shocked chuckle, the madness of what was once his peaceful home taking him by surprise.

"A good morning, indeed, it looks." He continued. "What _have_ you been up to?!" He sat himself down on one of the dining table chairs, inspecting the books that lay strewn across the small table. "Wandlore? Have you not yet memorised everything there is to know?" He laughed. Hermione giggled too, waving her wand for a plate of eggs and toast to set themselves down in front of the older Wizard and quickly weaving out of the way as the cutlery followed hurriedly behind it.

"No," She confessed happily. "Although I'm not far off. That's not what all of this is, though." Hermione paced for a moment, looking through some of the books until she found the one she was after, plucked it from the air and carried it over to the table where she sat next to her old friend.

"I've got some ideas." She beamed at Ollivander.

"Ideas? Whatever for?"

"New wands." She clarified. "Wands that do more than just make magic."

"What in Merlin's beard are you talking about, child?!" Ollivander asked, completely befuddled by the girl's outburst. She seemed much too excited and _inspired_ to be making much sense.

"I'm talkingabout wands and how we can use _wandlore_ to help the next generation of witches and wizards." Hermione explained. "I'm talking wands that prevent dark magic, wands that refuse use by anyone but the owner."

"Miss Granger, it's all been done before." Ollivander frowned, not liking the idea of squashing such inspiration in Hermione that he'd not seen since… well, since she was a child, really.

"I know." She said, not even the slightest hint of doubt in her brown eyes. "I know, but it's only ever been done _one_ material at a time. Look at this," She pushed a particularly old book in front of Ollivander. "Laurel wood struggles to perform dishonourable acts. And here," She turned about fifty pages all at once to a page unmarked but one she clearly knew was there. "Black Walnut seeks masters of good instinct. Think of all the good we could do just intertwining different woods! I haven't even _started_ researching cores yet!"

"Are you…?" Ollivander blinked profusely as he tried to piece together everything the excitable girl was saying. "My dear, are you suggesting crafting wands from… from _multiple_ materials? In _every_ component?"

"Yes."

"Well… Well, I don't believe _that_ has ever been done before."

"It hasn't!"

"I… Miss Granger, Wandlore is very tricky magic to master. Even _I_ don't believe I have truly mastered the art –"

"Garrick, you know I'm right." Hermione insisted with a grin even she didn't know she still had left in her. Ollivander's face softened, this being the first time in her life Hermione had ever felt comfortable calling him by his first name.

"I think… I think this is what I'm meant to do. I could really help people. And you could help me do it."

* * *

A/N: Hello to anyone and everyone who is reading this! While I (S) am not new to writing Dramione fanfiction, A is, and we're both attempting this co-authoring thing for the first time as well – so we really hope that you like what you're reading and decide to stick by us through it all. Draco's parts are all primarily written by A and I have primarily written Hermione's parts. We've got wonderful plans for this story and we can't wait for you to see them!

Thanks to all of our inspirations! If you like what you're reading, please let us know in a review!

Disclaimer: The characters and world in which this story involves all belong to JKR and associated companies. We do not take claim to anything but the plot.

Happy Reading,

\- A & S x


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